


Canvas

by cathrheas



Series: The Sapphic Sands of Zanado [4]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood Kink, Branding, F/F, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, Marking, Masochism, Sadism, Vaginal Fingering, i HATE to call it branding but i cannot think of anything more appropriate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22011358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathrheas/pseuds/cathrheas
Summary: Rhea decides to make art on something other than paper.
Relationships: Catherine/Rhea (Fire Emblem)
Series: The Sapphic Sands of Zanado [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1533440
Comments: 5
Kudos: 47





	Canvas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nexidava](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nexidava/gifts).



> A commission for Nexidava! Feel free to check out [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/cathrheas)!

Rhea was involved with monastery affairs to an extent, but (surprisingly), Seteth was the one who insisted that she take time for herself. Rhea didn’t do things in moderation very well, Catherine had learned, so it was satisfying to see Rhea taking time out of her day to do other things that she wanted to do, rather than constantly take care of the monastery. Watching her, Catherine realized that she tended to work around the clock, too: giving seminars, training new knights, or following behind Rhea.

In their newfound free time, they both took up hobbies, unable to sit still for long. While Catherine was more passive, wanting to see plays and storytellers in nearby towns, Rhea decided on painting.

She got nervous when Catherine stood over her shoulder—something that Catherine understood, even though she worked well under pressure. Every now and again, though, she couldn’t help lingering behind Rhea, looking at whatever she was painting or pencilling. Rhea always finished whatever works she started, but Catherine never got to see them, because Rhea hid them away. It was a shame, because even Catherine, who had little appreciation for paintings, loved every single one. Rhea liked to paint people, usually crowds, but sometimes individual people. Rhea admitted that she’d drawn Catherine “once or twice”, but refused to say what kind of drawing it was (“it was merely a drawing, Catherine!”) or where she’d hidden it.

One morning, Catherine woke up to find Rhea gone. She was either painting or with Seteth, and it was a weekend, so Catherine figured it was the former. Rhea always set up shop on the Star Terrace, so Catherine tiptoed over there in her pajamas.

Rhea tensed when Catherine approached—her ears moved beneath her hair, involuntarily—but didn’t speak. Catherine came closer, putting her hands on Rhea’s shoulders. Rhea kept painting. It was a crest, but Catherine couldn’t name it for a second—then, it came to her.

“The Crest of Flames, right?”

“Indeed. You ought to know it by now. I had no idea what else to paint, but I felt like painting...although it’s a bit difficult to do, with you standing over me.”

Ignoring the side-eye complaints, Catherine kept watching. Rhea’s strokes were steady, the brush thick with black paint. Rhea smeared it across the canvas. She seemed to know the curves and dips well. Catherine pulled Rhea’s hair away from her face, thumbed her pointed ears. The Crest of Flames...Sothis’ crest. The crest of Rhea’s mother. “Hey. Are you feeling okay—”

“I’m fine, Catherine,” Rhea said, laughing. “Really, I wasn’t thinking of Mother, or even Byleth, when I started. It just came to me.”

Catherine felt awkward for bringing it up. She sat on the ground next to Rhea’s chair, picking up Rhea’s discarded sketchbook and pencil. “I can’t believe you can draw that. I can’t even draw _my_ crest. I can draw the Crest of Seiros pretty well, though. Recognizably.”

“Oh, can you, now? I’m sure Seiros would be pleased to hear that.” Rhea turned to look at Catherine, smiling. Catherine shot her a wink. “You have seen it quite a lot, haven’t you?”

“At this monastery? It’s impossible to escape,” Catherine said. She stretched, watching as Rhea flipped the page of her easel. She dipped her brush again, then drew out the Crest of Seiros in practiced strokes. “Mine might look a little more lopsided than that, but I can get the gist of it.”

Rhea fell silent, looking at her crest laid out on paper. So many of her clothes, even her more casual outfits, had that crest in it. It made sense for her not to abandon it completely, although she had stepped down from her title; the Crest of Seiros was more than a symbol of religion. It held her power. “Catherine,” Rhea began. “I have a strange question for you.”

“Lemme have it.”

“How would you like it—how do you _think_ you would like it—if I were to...perhaps, mark you with this?”

“With what?”

“My crest.”

“Huh? How?”

“With—oh, never mind.”

“No, no, now I’m curious.” Catherine crouched in front of Rhea’s chair, blocking her view of the easel she’d been staring at so intently. “What do you mean?”

“A few nights ago...when I first gave you my blood. I’m sure you remember,” Rhea mumbled. Catherine surely did remember. Being able to hear Rhea’s thoughts for an entire day afterward, right after learning that she was a sadist...yeah, Catherine couldn’t forget that. 

Oh. _That’s_ what Rhea meant. “You wanna carve me up again, huh?”

“Please, don’t say it like—”

“I’m just joking, Rhea.” Catherine laughed. “I made it clear how I feel about doing that kind of thing, didn’t I? It’s okay.”

Rhea reached down for Catherine’s hands, and Catherine gave them without hesitation. “But that was different. That—we did that for a reason. If we do this, it will just be...”

“For fun! Hell, why not?” Catherine gave Rhea’s hands a squeeze, then stood up. “I’ll let you finish painting, but think about it. We can do whatever you want, whenever. Just give me a heads-up so I can have a drink or two before we get started. Y’know, to calm my nerves.”

Catherine expected a laugh at that, but didn't get one. There were gears turning behind Rhea’s head, like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t put it into words. Catherine sighed, giving Rhea a kiss on the top of her head before leaving the terrace.

* * *

Rhea didn’t think for long. That night, at dinner, she told Catherine that she’d like to do it, that same night. Catherine was glad that Rhea had become a bit more confident about what she wanted, even though it took quite a while to accomplish. 

True to her word, Catherine downed a mug of beer before she headed up to their bedroom. She wasn’t scared, or worried, but it’d go a lot smoother if she was loosened up a bit. She liked the pain—it took her awhile to admit that to herself—but she had limits, as a human...or whatever Rhea’s blood had made her.

When she got up to their room, Rhea was sitting on their bed, legs crossed. Her knife, the same one they’d used the first time, was lying in front of her, polished and (hopefully) sharpened. “Have you had your drink?” 

Catherine chuckled, and Rhea smiled up at her. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Anyone else would think us insane, if they knew what we were doing here,” Rhea mused. She watched, interested, as Catherine undressed herself. “Is there...any particular place that you’d like me to do it?”

“My back. I put some thought into it,” Catherine said. She left her bra and panties on, sitting on the bed with her back to Rhea. She reached around as best as she could, brushing her fingers over the spot she wanted. “Right here.”

“Okay.” Rhea picked up the knife, then hesitated. “Lay on your stomach, please, dear.”

Catherine propped herself up on the pillows, folding her arms beneath her head. “This okay?”

“Perfect. You’re perfect,” Rhea said, straddling the back of Catherine’s thighs. Catherine jumped when she felt the cool blade on her skin, dragging across idly, not breaking skin. It didn’t even hurt; it was just enough to make Catherine’s hairs raise. “And sensitive...”

“Caught me off-guard,” Catherine grumbled. 

Rhea replaced her knife with her fingers, tracing the shape of the crest with her fingers. “I can’t wait to truly make you mine,” Rhea whispered. Catherine was trembling with anticipation, and Rhea’s words only made it more difficult for Catherine to be at ease. “Are you ready?”

Catherine didn’t think there was a bottle of liquor in all the world to prepare her, really. “Go ahead. I’m ready.”

Rhea took a deep breath, like it was her that was about to be cut into. But, no, it was Catherine who felt the blade cutting into her skin, a steady straight line down her back. Even through the searing pain that nearly emptied her brain completely, she could imagine the crest, which part Rhea was carving into her. Rhea was cutting _deep,_ too; Catherine soon felt the trickling of blood down her sides, onto the sheets. 

She tried to stay still, not wanting to ruin Rhea’s work, but it was hard not to arch away from the knife, sometimes arch towards it. As Rhea went on, Catherine started to make sounds she’d never heard from herself before. Horrible little whimpers, girlish noises that she found dreadful coming from her. Rhea seemed to enjoy them plenty, though, her empty hand stroking Catherine’s shoulder. “Does it hurt, love?”

Had Catherine ever heard her sound like that? There was something sinister in her tone, but still loving, adoring...and so fucking _hot._ “Rhea,” Catherine choked out, digging her nails into her own arm. “It’s—it feels kinda...”

“You like it?” Rhea carved out the curves of her crest, gripping Catherine in her other hand. Catherine was struggling to breathe properly by then, unable to get a handle on all of the sensations—Rhea’s hand on her skin, the knife, the pain, the _blood,_ all accumulating between her legs. Rhea was weighing heavy on her. If Catherine wasn’t mistaken, Rhea was almost grinding on her leg. As if she were unable to control herself. “I’m almost done.”

_More,_ Catherine thought. But she was thinking straight enough to know that she wasn’t as sturdy as she was when Rhea was dripping dragon’s blood into her. And Rhea was cutting deeper than before, slower, as if she savored every moment of Catherine bleeding beneath her. The Crest of Seiros wasn’t too intricate, compared to some others, but it was enough to give Catherine a thorough taste of Rhea’s blade. The first cuts were clear to her, but soon, she felt too hot, too jumbled to figure out what Rhea was even doing. 

She didn’t even realize Rhea was finished until she felt the handle of the knife being laid flat atop her lower back, sticky with her blood and warm from Rhea’s hand. 

“It’s over?” Rhea didn’t say anything. Catherine could hear her breathing. “Ngh...I wanna see it.”

“If I can find two hand mirrors, we can...” Rhea trailed off. She was talkative and handsy when she was a little aroused, but when she was really excited, really invested, she’d get a spacey look in her eyes and wouldn’t talk much. 

“No. D-don’t, I’ll see it later. Fuck me. Please.”

“Do you want me to heal you first?” Catherine was jolted by the amount of concern she heard in Rhea’s voice. “Or apply a salve, at least?”

Never mind the fact that Catherine would have gladly ignored her wounds and let it scar over, just to have a gruesome (and fitting) symbol of Rhea on her forever...she wouldn’t say that, though. “Just like this.”

“My hands are bloody,” Rhea said, her lips by Catherine’s ear, then. It wasn’t a complaint, or an excuse; it sounded like a reminder. “Lift your hips...let me touch you.” 

With a bit of guidance from Rhea’s wandering hands, Catherine moved so that Rhea could access her, her hand pushing past the waistband of Catherine’s underwear. Her hands _were_ bloody, and they were both filthy, just like the first night they did it—no amount of experience could fix that. And Catherine was glad. She wanted to turn around, see Rhea as she was, as she wanted to be. But her head was so heavy...she could do nothing but lay there, letting Rhea do as she wished. 

Rhea’s fingers pressed into her, her other hand tracing over her handiwork. “Rhea, more, please,” Catherine said. “C’mon...”

“Call me Seiros,” Rhea said. “Please.”

Catherine was starting to like this side of Rhea. More than she did before, anyway. “Seiros, please. I-I need it.”

“Oh, Catherine,” Rhea sighed. She pressed herself to Catherine, her nightgown flush against the bloody crest she’d made. Rhea started to thrust into Catherine, lacking the skill and care that Catherine had felt from her before. But Catherine didn’t need skill, she didn’t need a gentle hand, she needed Rhea—Seiros—to show her that twisted brutality. It had gone beyond doing it for Rhea’s sake. Catherine _wanted_ it, _needed_ it. 

“Harder—m-my lady, Seiros,” Catherine pleaded, using what she had left of her energy to roll back against Rhea’s hand. “Harder.”

“Harder?” Rhea obliged, and Catherine bit into her arm, trembling. Both of Rhea’s hands were moving in tandem; Rhea had started touching herself without Catherine noticing. Catherine could hardly pay it any mind, trying to focus on the rest of what Rhea was doing to her. “You’re so beautiful, with my crest on your skin...does it please you, Catherine?”

Catherine didn’t have to answer. Rhea _knew_ what it did to Catherine, how much she loved it.Catherine’s blood and juices were on Rhea’s fingers, making for quite the messy affair as Rhea worked to finish them both off. Catherine felt Rhea’s hips jerking, her movements were getting more unsure, a telltale sign of her approaching climax. Catherine suddenly felt desperate, knowing that Rhea was getting closer. “Please, S-Seiros, I need it so bad, I just—”

Rhea hushed her, kissing at her cheeks and the back of her neck. Rhea’s bloodied palm pressed against her clit, and Catherine saw stars, moaning into the crook of her arm. Cumming on Rhea’s hand, feeling the wound pulse on her back, she felt like she was in a different world, like she was going to float away. Rhea’s hips rolled into her hand as her fingers moved inside of Catherine, keeping Catherine grounded.

Catherine’s shaky knees could only hold her up for so long, and she eventually collapsed into the bed, Rhea’s fingers slipping out of her. Rhea came down with her, rolling Catherine onto her back and kissing her into the bed, hard. Rhea still hadn’t cum yet, but her eyes fluttered open as she did, watching Catherine’s twisted, pained expression. Catherine lifted her hand, cupping Rhea’s cheek and petting her lovingly as she finished.

Rhea looked wiped out, like she wanted nothing more than to lay on top of Catherine and fall asleep. However, she merely smiled, leaning down to give Catherine a kiss before climbing off. “Where are you going?”

“Remember? I have to get a cloth to clean us up. I know you’re too tired to let me change the sheets tonight, so this is the least I can do...”

Catherine settled into the sheets as much as she could, but the scar was throbbing. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea for her to let it scar over. She’d endured worse, but Rhea definitely would have worried. 

Rhea came back with the cloth, telling Catherine to roll onto her side, and just like before, she cleaned them both of Catherine’s blood—but that time, Rhea’s blood was absent, and they hadn’t done it for any philosophical purposes. It was merely for pleasure, for their own enjoyment. It was a bit surreal, but Catherine couldn’t help feeling happy, even when Rhea healed all of her hard work again.

Catherine yawned. She couldn’t tell if she was going to fall asleep or simply pass out. “I didn’t get to see it.”

“The crest?”

“Yup.”

“It turned out...well, it was ‘recognizable’, as you’d say,” Rhea said. She was still rubbing at Catherine gently with the cloth, although Catherine had a feeling she was clean already. It felt nice, though, even when all the hot water had cooled. “A few too many sharp angles, I would say.”

“You’ll get better with practice.”

Rhea chuckled. “I’ve drawn it plenty of times, Catherine...”

“That was on paper, though.” Catherine rolled onto her back again, looking up at Rhea, who was kneeled at her side. “Do it again on me. And again, and again...and maybe one day, you can leave it there.”

If Rhea hadn’t already been pink in the face, she surely would have blushed. Instead, she tucked her hair behind her ear, patting Catherine’s cheek. “Maybe. But, a mark that perfect will take me a lot of practice. Are you prepared for that?”

_Prepared is an understatement._

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE SAPPHIC SANDS VERSE UHHHHGHHHHGHHGHGHGHHGH


End file.
